


The Stallion

by SecretSmutSquirrel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, But They're Enemies, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Sex, Corporal Punishment, Dom Drop, Dom Tony Stark, Dubious Consent, Goodbye Sex, Hurt/Comfort, King Tony Stark, M/M, Punishment, Rebel Steve Rogers, Riding Crops, Spanking, Steve Loves Him too, Sub Steve Rogers, Tony is 34, Tony loves Steve, Why God Why???, hole spanking, steve is 24
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretSmutSquirrel/pseuds/SecretSmutSquirrel
Summary: Tony considered the strange creature in front of him. How he longed to tame the wild beast, for the boy to sit at his feet and eat from his hand. Yet, beauty was found in his straight back, the proud lift of his head, the wild look in his eyes. It was something he’d always known - the charm of a wild stallion lay in his free spirit and independence. Taming one went against the course of nature. Keeping one would be a sin.When Steve runs away from the castle (again), Tony is forced to punish him. He also makes the painful decision to let him go. And maybe that's just what it takes to keep Steve by his side.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 230





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/gifts).



> The spanking is non-con but not particularly harsh. I wouldn’t say this is rape but very dubious consent. Tony would love to dote on Steve, but it’s hard due to their conflicting positions. It might read as abuse, everything is very dubious, so please take care. 
> 
> Honestly, I just wanted to write hole spanking. The whole backstory was just to give Tony a reason to do this, and he’s quite reluctant. He feels like it’s something he has to do but it’s also hurting him to do so. 
> 
> This was inspired by The Prize by sabrecmc. I love the dynamic between Tony and Steve and how they've got such strong conflicting emotions driving them together and apart. Also, hole spanking in chapter 10. I'm obsessed with it. I’ve read it 20 times, and this is the result. =p

Tony paused at the doorway of the bedroom, desperately trying to catch his breath and slow the pounding of his heart. As always, his thoughts raced ahead of him, but he needed to calm down and focus. 

In the dim lighting, he could barely make out the naked figure bent over the foot of the bed, arms bound above his head and ankles tied to the bottom of the bedposts. Tony would know him blind - by his scent, the way his breaths came and went. 

It was his rebel, back in his place, where he belonged.

Tony ran his fingers through the soft blonde hair, cupping the runaway’s face as he dabbed away the drying tears. “Hush, love. Nothing’s happened that can’t be undone,” he said to his sweet, sniffling boy, who leaned into his touch as he pressed a kiss to his temple. 

Tony’s hands caressed the boy’s bare back, smoothing away the tension under the skin before coming to rest at the swell of his firm cheeks. Parting them, Tony could see the dusky pink cleft and his tender rosebud. It was just as he’d ordered - washed and oiled for his pleasure. 

Tony didn’t particularly care for hurting him, much preferring to spoil him with sweet treats, life’s luxuries and his soft touch. But the soft approach had yielded no results and he’d exhausted all other means of taming the wild colt, who remained thoroughly unbroken despite a whole year in his keep.

Tony had already calmed down from that morning when he discovered the rebel’s escape, on Gerald, his noble steed no less. It was by a stroke of luck that his guards had caught up with the young rider before he reached the forest. 

The boy had ridden back in disgrace, arms bound behind his back, feet lashed to the stirrups. Nonetheless, he kept his back straight and head held high, like a wild horse one sometimes found at the fringe of the forest. As he passed the gates, he looked directly at Tony, blue eyes blazing with the heat of a thousand suns, defiant even in defeat.

He had rung up an extensive list of offences: Theft of his horse, his sword and the royal seal; Property damage to one of the castle’s walls. To top it off, he’d maimed at least three guards when they attempted to restrain him. It was treason of the highest order. Men had been hung for far less than that. The good thing about being king was he got to decide that it was the petty sort - little acts of naughtiness, which could be addressed privately in the bedroom.

Preoccupied with the safe return of his lover, punishment had been the farthest thing from his mind. Quite frankly, all Tony wanted to do was to hold him and kiss him and tell him he was forgiven, but that wouldn’t sit well with the other generals. After all, it had been their men that the boy had wounded in his escape. Stane would have very much liked a public display, perhaps shoving the boy atop the wooden pony, a cruel mockery of his failed escape. If not that, then, at the very least, they would have demanded a beating as recompense for their men’s suffering. 

And Tony couldn’t ignore their demands. It would start a coup, the very last thing he needed in the middle of a revolution. 

With a heavy heart, Tony picked up the riding crop and passed it in front of his unruly young colt, whose eyes widened momentarily in spite of the brave face he put on. Tony had to place one hand on the small of his back, patting him gently to calm him down. With his other hand, he lifted his chin with the leather tip of the crop, forcing the boy to meet his gaze.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Tony asked.

The rebel stayed silent, turning his head the other side. 

“I’ll read you the list. You stole from me. You damaged my property. You hurt my men. But worst of all, you were trying to run from me, without even a word of goodbye.”

Tony paused a moment, letting the full weight of his reprimand sink in. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, his soft voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Not sorry for running though?” Tony asked, noticing the omission. “You’re going to try again, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, confirming his worst fears. 

Tony thought they would be over that by now. The boy had promised to stay. He’d pledged this loyalty to him. Tony liked to think that he had finally become accustomed to palace life and fond of Tony’s company. But at times like these, Tony had to confront the bitter truth - that he had only offered himself in exchange for the freedom of his comrades - Barnes, Wilson, Romanova. It was no coincidence that he’d tried to escape the day after fresh plans to pursue said rebels had been approved.

“Very well,” Tony said, running the leather tip over the smooth, round bottom. “Let’s see if this will change your mind.” 

Taking his position behind the boy, to his left, Tony raised the crop above the fleshy round rump, tapped it a few times to practise his aim, and brought it down with a loud crack. 

A horizontal stripe appeared near the top of the rebel's hindquarters, over tender flesh from a long day of hard riding. Without giving the boy time to catch his breath, he lay another right below the first stroke, this time drawing a gasp. He would move downwards, striking with accuracy, searing that fine meat with perfectly parallel grill marks. 

Tony remembered the first time they’d met. The boy was on his knees, head on the ground, under the toe of Stane’s filthy boot. His legs were tucked neatly under his body, back and bottom covered with the marks of a single-tailed whip. 

Tony had listened half-heartedly to the general’s report of how they’d caught him in his study, trying to steal their plans to quell the uprising. What had got his attention was the description of how the guards had seized his belongings, stripping him and searching him quite thoroughly, to the extent of slipping more than one oiled finger into his firm, young ass. 

Tony had exploded, rebuking the pompous general, threatening him with a whipping of his own. The boy was stealing Tony’s plans in Tony’s study in Tony’s palace. That made him Tony’s captive. What authority did Stane or anyone else have to lay a finger on or in _his_ thief? 

Those in attendance had gawked at his outburst. It was objectively absurd, for the king to be defending a thief, an enemy of the state. How could he have such strong feelings for someone he’d never met?

Tony didn’t even know. 

It was an obsession. Like a long line of great leaders before him, besotted with a pretty face. And his was indeed beautiful, with his soft hair, wet eyes and pink lips, swollen from biting down on them in an attempt to remain silent while his well-muscled body struggled in his binds.

A wave of sympathy washed over him as he listened to his pained cries. It was the rebel's nature to be defiant. That was exactly why he’d joined the revolution, idealistic and naïve that their uprising would stand a chance against his armed forces. 

Tony had to admire their determination, even though he didn’t quite understand their concerns. Food was abundant, employment was high and the crime rate had been the lowest in decades. So what if he had to apply harsh measures and restrict freedoms to achieve those objectives? People were safe and well-fed and that was all that mattered.

Or was it?

Why then did his boy, who lived in the lap of luxury and had his every need catered to, repay his kindness by running away each time he could? 

He was quiet now, silent tears running down his cheeks as he strained in misery, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he endured the harsh strokes on his thighs. His back was coated in perspiration, the evidence of his suffering in the sultry evening heat.

Tony put down the crop to review the results of his work – red stripes covering the graceful swell of his bottom to the middle of strong thighs. He ran his fingers gently over the raised lines, eliciting a whimper from the well-punished boy, whose body continued trembling with violent sobs.

Tony rested his hand on a hip, stroking the bone that jutted out. “Now? Do you yield? Going to stop running to your rebel friends? Going to stay with me?” he asked, whispering into his pretty ear.

“No,” the boy said, repeating the assertion with even more determination this time. 

It was just like his little wildling to fight him at every turn. If only he would express some sort of regret, Tony would be all too happy to take him to bed and shower him with tenderness. But this overt display of defiance, this lack of remorse, had to be addressed.

Tony parted the swollen cheeks to peek at the rosy flesh between, focusing his gaze on the tender pink bud. He stroked the rim with his thumb, gently tracing circles as the boy squirmed, fully aware of what awaited him. He’d been warned. The next time he betrayed Tony, his sweet boycunt would pay the price.

It wasn’t an unusual punishment. Applying the crop to a boy’s tender hole was widely considered an effective method of discipline. Even young princes like Tony hadn’t been spared during his formative years.

Tony had his reasons for putting it off, the obvious one being that he had no wish to hurt his precious wildling. More importantly, he knew this was a last resort. If punishment as harsh as this failed to break his spirit, then nothing ever would.

Hardening his heart, Tony picked up the crop, and stroked the exposed cleft with its tip, tapping it lightly against the tender rosebud. Without warning, he pulled it back, flicking it directly on the tightly-clenched hole. The effect was immediate. The boy howled in pain, twisting wildly in his futile attempt to free his hands and soothe his sex. 

Tony’s mouth hardened into a grim line. Yes. _This was it. The back door was where he would finally be getting through._

With another flick of his wrist, he slapped the pink bud again, and again, barely pausing between strokes to build a rhythm, not unlike the beat of war drums, as the rigid crop marched up and down the valley of dusk. A king, he would conquer anything and anyone that stood in the way of his prize. 

By the time he was done, the boy had stopped struggling, his loud cries of protests subsiding into broken sobs, his pink bud swelling like the soft petals of a blooming rose.

It was this sight that brought him back to his senses. 

He’d gone too far. The air left his lungs, which collapsed and crushed his heart, sinking to the pit of his stomach where its contents swirled. Tony flung the hateful crop aside, wrapping his arms around the shaking shoulders, rubbing his back as he hushed his cries. Tony kissed his forehead, brushing away the hot tears with the pads of his thumbs. 

“Shhh. It’s over now. It’s over. It’s over. I forgive you.” 

The real question was whether he could forgive himself. It took a while but he found the courage to survey the damage, to come to terms with what he had done. He returned to his place between long, slim legs, sickened at the sight of the angry strokes that covered the lovely white canvas, now a mess of pinks. 

He planted soft kisses all over the bright pink bottom, burying his face between the cheeks, lapping at the soft, tender flower in his hopes of providing relief. It wasn’t long before the boy began moaning softly at Tony’s efforts, the plump flesh between his legs swelling and causing Tony’s heart to race. Tony took him in one hand, giving him a few firm strokes. With the other, he gently caressed his bottom, running circles around his rim, trying to alleviate his suffering. 

Tony pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the middle of his lower back. He held him tightly, keeping his voice even, despite his desperation, resisting the urge to beg. “Look at how your body responds. You belong to me. Tell me you’ll stay. Promise that you won’t run.”

In the darkness, promising moans of pleasure filled the room, and victory bubbled in Tony’s chest. This would finally be the moment he’d been waiting for - the day he tamed the boy and made him his. 

He heard the rustling before he saw – the unmistakable shaking of that blonde head as a loud sob pierced the silence. “I can’t,” the boy cried.

The bubble burst, and the weight of failure sank to the bottom of Tony’s stomach. He let out a deep sigh, thoroughly defeated. He’d exhausted his options, used the very last weapon in his arsenal, but still, his rebel refused to yield.

Tony swallowed his hurt, barely masking his pain. “Why? Why do you have to fight me all the time? Is your life here so hard? Do you hate me all that much?”

“No,” he cried, protesting. There was a long pause and Tony waited, desperate for an answer. “I don’t - I don’t hate you. You’re not like they said. And I never expected to - It’s just - this wasn’t the life I chose.”

Between his sobs, the boy could barely string a sentence, yet Tony understood the devastating words. “All that I have is yours – the richest food, the finest clothes, the softest bed. Still, you would rather be with your friends, starving in the cold, as you plot the next protest or maybe even my death?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at him, as if pleading with him to understand. “Because then I would get to choose. Then, I would be free.” 

“Freedom,” Tony scoffed. “A noble idea. How many men are truly free? You think I chose this life? That I chose to be a king? Do you think I enjoy this? Every widow made by my decision? Every child orphaned by my will? These are _my_ choices - and such is the weight of my crown.”

The boy looked at his eyes, his face, searching it closely for a sign of weakening resolve. “ Tony, you’re a good king. You’re kind and fair to your people and you really do care about us. But what happens after you? You have no heirs,” the boy pointed out. “Times are changing. The monarchy is over. Besides, a crown suits you ill. One day, you should give it up, let the people choose someone who wants to rule, someone who would find it their calling.”

“And what would I be if not a king?”

“A man. An equal. Someone I could -,” he trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging between them.

Their eyes met, like two men on opposite sides of a canyon, unable to see what the other saw – so near they could see each mark of beauty or flaw, but not close enough to touch. Yet, neither had the courage to leap over the raging current, to cross over to the other side. 

“You would never be happy to stay here with me,” Tony said, his own voice ringing with truth. 

The silence was loud and clear – _He could be ridden, but he would never be tamed_.

Tony considered the strange creature. How he longed to tame the wild beast, for the boy to sit at his feet and eat from his hand. Yet, his beauty lay in his straight back, the proud lift of his head, the wild look in his eyes. It was something he’d always known - a wild stallion's free spirit was part of his charm. Taming one went against the course of nature. Keeping one would be a sin.

And Tony had been so, so wrong.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, the thought of being apart from his boy, his – Steve, shattering his heart. Well, that would be _his_ penance, for daring to go against nature, for daring to take what could never be his. And he would have to bear it for the rest of his life.

Tony sank to the ground, hands fumbling to untie Steve’s long legs from the bedposts. He rubbed gently at the ankles, chafed from struggling against his bonds before he untied the ropes that bound Steve’s hands, kissing away the indentations of coarse rope. 

“Come to bed,” he said, watching as the boy climbed on after him, crawling painfully to lie on his stomach, resting his head on his favourite pillow, the one which Steve said reminded him of home. 

Tony sometimes wondered where Steve even considered his home, now that Brooklyn had been razed to the ground, in revenge for what they’d done to his parents. It had to be the redwood forests that bordered the city, where the rebel base was rumoured to be.

He lay on the same pillow, rubbing his face into it to inhale their mixed scents. He’d take it to his own bed as a memento. Better still, he might move into the boy’s room after, and pretend his lover was still here, that nothing had changed.

Abruptly, he turned the other way, not wanting the younger man to see the tears in his eyes. Steve shifted to lie on his side, holding Tony and nuzzling his back, pressing his hardness against Tony as he softly kissed his neck. 

It reminded Tony of the first time they made love.

They had been fighting. Steve was talking about Athens, and their successes, extolling the merits of a democracy. And Tony had been hurt, offended even, at how passionate he was about having him replaced. 

He’d turned away, too upset to speak to the younger man, who finally realised he’d gone too far. Steve had tried to atone for his careless words, begging forgiveness with his arms around Tony and kisses on his neck. 

Then, came the shy kiss on his lips. 

Tony had laughed, humoured by his childish attempt at seduction but Steve had huffed angrily, his pride bruised. Tony swiftly returned the kiss, claiming his lips to keep his young lover from leaving his side. It had been wonderful. And he had been euphoric, thrilled, that months of pining had given way to something resembling romance.

It was romance. And Tony would fight anyone who claimed otherwise. It was love he’d seen in those blue eyes, which burned fiercely for him, even though they glazed over at one point and Steve froze for so long that Tony was sure he’d changed his mind. 

He’d asked if Steve wanted to stop, promised to wait as long as he needed. But Steve, his hotheaded lover, had demanded that they keep going, even threatening to kill Tony at one point if he dared to pull away. Tony had obliged, kissing the soft pout with desire, before finding his warm ass and burying himself inside. 

It was later that night, when Steve was in the bath, that he’d found the dagger under Steve’s pillow. Tony wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly why it had been there. What he didn’t know was why it hadn’t been used. It would have been perfect, plunging it into his heart as he spilled inside his lover. Tony would have died the happiest man on earth.

They never spoke of it. And that was the first and only time Steve had tried to take his life.

Tony turned around to kiss his lover’s parted lips, slipping his tongue into that warm mouth. His hand trailed down Steve’s chest, caressing his soft skin before finding his hard and wet cock - proof of his desire. 

Tony turned Steve to lie on his back, carefully bending his knees to relieve the pressure on his sore bottom. Tony broke the kiss, peppering Steve’s neck with lighter ones, kissing a trail down the flat planes of his stomach before finding his cock.

Tony licked the sweet droplet. His tongue circled the head, sucking gently as he pulled the foreskin back, eliciting a soft moan. Tony sucked gently, relishing the way it filled his mouth, pushed against the back of his throat. He memorised its taste, its shape, its beautiful curve. He didn’t think he could forget it, even if he wanted to. 

With his free hand, he stroked the bottom of Steve’s thighs, hearing a hiss as he went over the sore skin near the cleft. His thumb traced over the swollen rim, feeling a wave of remorse for the harsh punishment he’d meted out. 

“Please,” Steve asked, moving his hips and rubbing his entrance against Tony’s thumb.

Tony froze, freeing Steve’s cock from his mouth. He looked at him in concern. “No, my love. It will hurt. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Steve’s eyes flew open and he breathed shallowly through his parted lips. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I just – I just want to feel you,” he gasped, his voice a desperate whisper.

Tony sat up, kneeling between his lover’s legs to take a closer look. He lapped at the cleft, gently circling Steve’s rosy hole, already looking slightly less red and swollen than it had minutes earlier. Steve moaned loudly, communicating his pleasure loud and clear, weakening his resolve. 

He turned Steve over, so he lay on his elbows and knees, punished bottom in the air. With a steady hand, he drizzled the oil from the bottle directly down the cleft, spreading it evenly so a thick layer coated the swollen boycunt, and slowly worked his fingers into the pretty pink rose. 

Dropping his breeches, Tony released his cock so it lined up with Steve’s oiled hole. He circled the entrance with it, before slipping in slowly, giving Steve’s tight young pucker the time to adjust to his full size. It only took a while for Steve’s gasps of pain to become moans of pleasure. Then, Tony began to thrust deeper into his bowels, taking Steve’s dripping cock with one hand and stroking.

It was a bittersweet moment - two bodies joined as one even when they were really worlds apart. Tony bit back a sob, muffling the sound with Steve’s shoulder. It was for this reason that he chose to take Steve from behind. He wasn’t going to let his lover see him crying. It was their final moment together and it was going to be perfect.

Steve didn’t last very long, soon spurting ribbons of come onto the bed, some of it dripping onto Tony’s fingers. With Steve finding his pleasure, Tony followed soon after, as he had no wish to prolong the young man’s misery.

Exhausted, Steve lay in bed, trying to catch his breath. Tony wiped him with a towel, rinsing it in a washbasin, as he cleaned the drying tears and sweat from his beautiful face. He went over the rest of his body, memorising the feel of each plane and curve, while he removed all the traces of sweat and come. The red marks on his bottom would fade in a week or so, but hopefully, Steve would remember him for longer than that.

He wondered if Steve would think of him on occasion, hopefully not as an adversary, but a lover who’d once shared his bed. What would be his favourite memory? Would he remember the first time he tried chocolate and made such delicious sounds of pleasure that Tony commandeered the city’s next shipment for his personal use? Or the first time he’d had a warm bath, delighting in the novelty of scented bubbles? 

By the time Tony was done, his young lover had begun to drift into a deep sleep, so he left the room, taking a stroll to clear his head. 

His first stop was to the treasury - to retrieve the weapon that the guards had seized when Steve had been caught. He hadn’t needed it then, not with Tony as his fortress. But if he was going back to his old life, surely, he’d need to be armed.

His next stop was the study, where he found Steve’s sketchbooks, filled with sketches of the palace and its curios. He would want to show them to his mates, find a point of entry and finish the mission that Steve started. 

Under them was the book they’d read together - _Conquerors_. Tony smiled indulgently at the scribbles in the margins denouncing the monarchy, tickled by the hand-drawn moustaches and beards. It was a gesture which spoke volumes, even if Tony was the only one who understood. It was Steve’s way of telling him - that he was the only one who mattered.

His final stop was the stables, where he unlocked the gate to his horse’s stall. He winced, feeling sorry for Steve as he imagined his sore buttocks bouncing against the hard saddle on his long ride to the forest. It was at least a two-day ride to the rebel base. Would he think of Tony the whole time? Steve would forget him in a week, at most, while he would remember him for the rest of his life.

Before returning to the room, he gave clear instructions to the guards. They were not to stop or pursue Steve when he left in the morning, regardless of what he carried on his person. By the time he got back, Steve was deep in slumber.

Tony crawled into bed, careful not to wake his young rebel. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, to watch his lover sleep. He admired the soft lashes, observed the rise and fall of his chest. He stayed there, gazing in silence, burning this picture into his memory until the candle went out.

He made sure to leave the shield on his side of the bed, so that Steve would see it the next morning. The next time they met, they would be foes. Tony could never hurt him again, after all that he’d done. And if Steve chose to raise his shield and crush him where it would hurt most, it wouldn’t matter.

His heart had long been broken.

With a kiss to Steve’s forehead, he considered his parting words. He’d felt them for a long time, yearned to say them one day to the blond that broke into his life and shattered his world. He never found the right time and now, it didn’t matter anymore.

_I love you._

He took a long last look at the bedroom, a tiny bubble where they forgot they were at war. In there, they’d created beautiful memories, all of which he would never forget. With a final glance at his sleeping lover, he walked out and shut the door. 

_Goodbye, my stallion. Stay wild. Be free._

_***_


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured by his enemies, Tony finds himself in a predicament. Will he ever find his way home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for posting this so late. I had a draft ready for the second chapter when I posted the first one and I thought I could edit it in three days. But the plot bunnies didn't leave me alone and it's swelled to three times its length. 
> 
> It was really challenging to write the plot and the feelings and the smut altogether and it really makes me respect writers like sabre who do the worldbuilding and plotty twists and sexy smut all in the same story! 
> 
> This takes place about a year after the events of chapter 1! I don't think there is anything requiring a warning in this chapter, but please let me know if I missed anything out. I hope you like it. :D

Tony opened his eyes to find himself stiff and sorely in need of a stretch. He could blink his eyes and move his head, wiggle his fingers and toes, but that was about it. Any attempt to move his limbs beyond that only resulted in burns to the skin of his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear the fog shrouding his mind, and began to put the pieces together. 

_Right. He was on his way to the heart of the rebel stronghold, when they were ambushed. His knights had fled, leaving him at the mercy of the assailants. And he was their captive, bound to a chair in the middle of god-knows-where._

Tony wasn’t even afraid, having lost the ability to feel anything else apart from despair, now that the love of his life had left. He just couldn't bring himself to care, not even about prosperity, peace or progress, when he had no queen by his side. He'd given up on finding one. Not one of the beauties in his harem could hold a candle to his Steve - a beacon in the dark, who burned fiercely as he left stars in his wake. Someone like Steve could never belong to anyone. Tony wasn’t supposed to want him, much less try to hold on to him, and keep him for his own. 

It was no wonder he crashed and burned.

Tony missed him. He missed him all the time, especially at night, when it got cold and dark. He’d even started reminiscing about their fights, fondly remembering how Steve would argue with him, passionately, getting all riled up when they couldn’t see eye to eye. He’d storm off in a rage, only to return by the hour with his eyes still blazing, kissing him ardently with his warm mouth, skin hot to the touch. 

Tony had come to see the light, and it revealed all the cracks and flaws in the system. Perhaps, some of Steve’s beliefs hadn’t been so absurd. Democracy wasn’t a bad idea. After all, any other man or woman would have been more qualified, more capable, more functional at being a king than he was.

He thought of Steve often, keeping tabs on his career, happy to hear of his meteoric rise through the ranks, to _captain_. He’d used his position to campaign for peace, taking advantage of his connections to negotiate a ceasefire. Months had passed since the last clash and the people had come together to rebuild war-torn cities from their ruins. 

In all the ways that counted, the war was over. And the accords would make everything official. After they were signed, the people could hold their elections, select a more qualified person to lead them.

And Tony would be free. 

In those times of darkness, Tony wondered if he would once again see the light of his life. If he got to set eyes on his angel, just for a moment, he’d happily spend eternity in heaven or hell or wherever they sent people like him - the ones who did all the wrong things for the right reasons, fucking everything up as they bumbled along their way.

At least he was in good company. 

Tony strained his ears, listening with rapt attention to the sounds of the guards outside bumbling at _their_ jobs. Bodies were falling to the ground in loud thuds accompanied by the whizzing and clanging of a metallic object. And Tony couldn’t help wondering if the commotion had anything to do with his predicament. 

He didn’t think it was a rescue party. He wasn’t so blind to the dwindling support from those who'd pledged their loyalty to him. Yet, there was no other explanation for the noises outside - yelps of surprise, pained grunts and resounding clangs. Finally, the flaps were drawn back, and light flooded his tent. 

The first thing Tony’s squinting eyes took in were the boots, caked in mud. They paused at the circular shield, worn and scratched from use, before moving toward the narrow waist, the broad chest and wide shoulders, finally stopping to stare openly at the face, covered with a light dusting of facial hair. Tony admired the masculine jaw, the long blonde locks, gently mussed and roughly swept out of the way to reveal those blazing blue eyes, which burned his skin and kindled his heart, bringing him back to life. 

“Hey,” the man said, panting heavily as he stood in the opening. 

“Hey,” Tony said, when he finally found his voice. “You're here.” 

“Yes, I gave you my word,” the man said, before hurrying over to undo the ropes, slicing through them with a small knife. _If you need me, I’ll be there._ Tony had never expected the blotchy smudged scribblings of a farewell note to be honoured, and he was deeply moved.

“You look good,” Tony said, to the young man by his feet, whose face turned a pretty shade of pink. He gazed upon the bruised knuckles, resisting the urge to kiss them, not that he could, still tied to a chair. Steve was quiet, focused on his task, so Tony let him be, trying to slow down his own breathing, hoping the younger man wouldn’t hear the violent pounding of his heart. 

It didn’t take long for Steve to cut away the last of his ropes. “Come on, we gotta go,” he said, a grim look on his face as he stretched out his hand. 

Tony took it, following Steve to the doorway, where they were greeted by lines and lines of unconscious guards. “They are so going to have you whipped for this,” Tony whispered, deeply impressed.

“Probably,” Steve huffed. “But first, they have to catch me. Backup will arrive tomorrow so we’ve only got to lay low till then,” Steve explained as he dragged him behind a large tree at the sound of footsteps. 

Tony blinked in confusion. “Wait. Backup? These aren’t Fury’s men?” he asked.

“They used to be, until they developed a more violent agenda of their own. Order through chaos. Something like that," Steve said, shaking his head. "They're against the accords," he added. 

Tony raised a brow, hearing about this for the first time. “Who's behind all this?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

Steve shrugged. “Probably whoever is next in line. If they don't want you ceding power to the people.” 

“The Duke of Columbia. My uncle. Lord Pierce,” he gasped. He should have seen this coming. His uncle's rule as regent. The secret meetings. The clandestine looks. The accidents. The close shaves. They were beginning to make sense now.

_They were planning to get rid of him._

“Yep,” Steve said, taking out a guard with a flick of his shield. "You know I never liked him." 

Tony watched, open-mouthed and slack-jawed, as Steve took down three more guards, one of whom was about to plunge his knife into Tony’s chest. Tony knew Steve was strong and able. He could tell from the way his muscles rippled, from the effortless way he carried Tony to bed. But out here, he was in his element - beautiful, powerful. 

He was wild. 

Tony followed closely on his heels, shouting out warnings as he tried his best to stay out of the way. “Steve!” he cried, pulling the shield out of a tree and hurling it at him at one point when he was outnumbered. 

The exit led them right into the middle of the forest. Looking at the rows of trees surrounding them, a bone-deep weariness began to settle on him. “You know what?” Tony said, planting his tired ass firmly on the grass. “Just leave me here," he said, only half-joking. "It’s a good place to die. Where else am I gonna find a view like this?”

Steve gave him a sideways look and let out a whistle. It took a while for Tony to hear it the unmistakeable sound of hoofbeats. The white horse was magnificent - sturdy and well-built, clearly bred for battle, but it was the one behind, dark brown with a white star on his head, which made his heart stop. 

“I’ll be damned. The prodigal son returns,” Tony said, as Gerald nuzzled the back of his hand. 

Steve watched them for a while with a look akin to fondness. “He missed you.” 

Tony’s gaze shifted from his horse’s face to Steve’s and back. “Yeah. Missed him too.”

Steve smiled, mounting his steed and beckoning Tony to follow. They travelled half a day, only stopping once for a drink before fleeing through the dense vegetation. Tony could barely see the path ahead, so he focused on keeping up with the younger man, who weaved his way through the trees with ease. 

At sunset, they arrived at a wooden cabin, which Tony understood to be some sort of rebel outpost. It was beside a lake, which they jumped in, eager to wash the dirt and grime off their bodies. Tony took his time, enjoying the view as Steve busied himself with chores - breaking logs, spearing fish and kindling a fire. 

It was a warm evening, so they were comfortable in their underclothes, neither of them embarrassed by the lack of clothing. Using branches that Steve had skinned and sharpened at one end, they skewered the fish and roasted them over the fire, shoving the thick end of the spit into the ground to free their hands.

“Sorry about all this,” Steve said, gesturing vaguely to just about everything. “I know this is kind of rough.” 

Tony nodded, waving away his apology. “You seem to be doing all right,” he observed.

“Home is home,” Steve answered quickly, with a faint smile.

Tony blinked in surprise, looking from Steve to the cabin and back to him. “Is this a permanent arrangement? Don't you live in housing of some sort?” he asked. 

“Yeah. I was at the barracks for a while,” Steve explained. “It was fun. Thin walls. You hear what people say. Apparently being the _king’s whore_ makes you _the scum of the earth_. So, I left. Got tired of my friends constantly trying to defend my honour. It’s not a big deal anyway. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. Never really fit in anywhere.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, his heart heavy with guilt. 

“Don’t,” Steve said, waving away his apology. “You gave me a home. This was my choice,” he said as Tony's heart ached at the thought of his precious boy living in these conditions, alone.

“Have you made yours?” Steve asked, turning the conversation back to him. 

Tony blinked. “My choice? The accords?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking carefully at him. “Are you planning to sign?”

Tony let out a heavy sigh. “It’s been on my mind,” he confessed, opening up to the younger man. "I want to. I mean, it feels like the right thing to do. But men, good men, have fought and died to keep the Stark name on that crown. I don't even know if it’s my choice to make.” 

“If you care so much about _that_ , why haven’t you married? Or sired an heir?”

Tony's mouth fell open. He'd forgotten how direct Steve could sometimes be. “My heart wasn’t in it,” he said. “You took it when you left,” he added, curtly. 

Steve flinched at his tone, swallowing hard before dropping the subject. For a while, they said nothing, just watching the fish browning over the grill before devouring it with their hands. It was far from the best meal Tony had had, but it was warm and satisfying after going a whole day without any form of nourishment. 

“You were going after Bucky,” Steve said, quietly, toward the end of the meal.

“Yep,” Tony admitted. He really was, despite his promise. But that was before he found out how his parents had died. He forced himself to swallow the food in his mouth, which had turned sour at the mention of that name. 

“He’s my friend.”

“I know,” Tony said, letting out a bitter laugh.

Unlike Steve, Tony had no love for that man. Notwithstanding the fact that he’d killed his parents, Tony hated his perfect hair and well-proportioned features, especially those large brown eyes filling with tears when Steve had offered his freedom in exchange for his life. He could still remember the man’s impassioned pleas. _No, not without you!_ He had screamed as the guards had dragged him out of the castle.   
  


“It wasn’t him,” Steve said, his earnest blue eyes reflecting his belief in his friend’s innocence. 

Tony resisted the urge to roll his. Of course, Steve, unwaveringly loyal to the ones he loved, would think so. “Then why did Zemo insist?” Tony countered, remembering the general’s damning evidence of Barnes’ guilt. 

“Zemo,” Steve echoed, with contempt. From his satchel, Steve pulled out a box and handed it to Tony. “We found this among his possessions, at our last raid. I think it belonged to your father.” 

Tony opened the box to find a pair of reeds and an inscription on the inside of the box: _A reed before the wind lives on, while mighty oaks do fall._

It was something his father was fond of saying, convinced that embracing change was the only way forward. It was just as Tony remembered then - Howard was going to sign the accords with those same pens when he was killed. And if Zemo had them… 

“He ran their carriage off the cliff,” Steve said, as Tony arrived at the same conclusion.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony muttered, his mouth dry. “Why?”

Steve shrugged. “Said he wanted to see an empire fall.” 

“Don’t we all?” he asked, sardonically. Tony sank back, resting his weight on his elbows, as his head reeled with all the information. He fixed his eyes on the younger man. “Why didn’t _you_ kill me?” he asked. “You had your chance.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, plucking at the blades of grass. “I guess it would have been easier if I hated you. Like I was supposed to. You took away my parents, my home, everything I ever cared about. You stood in the way of our freedom. I wanted so badly to hate you back then.” 

“Yet, you never loved me,” Tony said. It was more of a question than a statement. “No, you didn’t. That's what you said,” he answered it himself.

“Never said I didn’t love you,” Steve argued. “Said I couldn’t give you my heart. There is a difference.”

Tony furrowed his brows, shaking his head. “I don’t see it.”

Steve turned his head to meet his gaze. “A lot of things you don’t see from up there on your throne.” 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, his mind still reeling from the day’s revelations. And how blind he’d been. “I'm sure it's much better from your high horse.” 

Steve made himself comfortable on the blankets. “Actually," he said with a happy sigh. "You get the best view on the ground looking up at the stars.” 

It was a warm, summer evening, so they lay on their blankets with only the night sky for cover. The forest floor was a good bed - soft, thick with several inches of soil. Gazing at the blanket of stars, they munched on wild berries and talked about the ceasefire and the rebuilding efforts, heartened by the progress on that front. 

The flames were beginning to die down, but it was still comfortably warm when Steve moved over, tentatively putting his arms around his waist. “It’s cold,” he explained.

“No, it’s not,” Tony said, seeing right through the excuse to hold him.

“I missed this,” Steve said quietly, above the cackling of the fire. “I missed you.”

There was a long silence, where Tony focused on his body and what was wrong with it. Because he was either hearing things or suffering from some sort of brain damage. For him to imagine that Steve had said what he'd thought he'd said. 

“Did you miss me?” Steve asked, and Tony searched his memory, trying to remember if the confident young man had ever sounded quite so nervous and unsure. Yet, here he was, arms around him and waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, in his attempt to get Steve off his back, not that it worked. 

Tony could feel the heat from Steve's chest seeping into his back, his warm breaths against his ear. They stayed that way, with Steve's arms around him, for a couple of minutes, so quiet and still that Tony thought Steve must have fallen asleep. “I’m sorry,” came the shaky voice from behind. "I didn't think you'd let me go." 

Tony turned to face the younger man, cupping the side of his face with his hand, just in time to wipe away a tear. “Hey, hey. I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you for leaving,” Tony said, stroking his cheekbone and wiping away another tear as he tried to reassure the young man that nothing had been held against him. It appeared to work and Steve began to calm down. Nonetheless, he kept his hand on Steve’s cheek, tracing the trembling lips with his thumb. 

“Prove it then," Steve said. “Kiss me,” he asked.

Tony moved his hands to the back of Steve's head, stroking the young man's hair as he searched his hopeful eyes. “I don’t know”, he answered, hesitantly. “Look, I want to, all right? I really do. But that will just make it harder in the morning when you leave. You know, it really hurt me when you left.” 

“Hurt me back,” Steve told him, taking one of Tony's hands and pressing it against his damp cheek.

“No,” Tony said. “I’m not going to punish you for running. You were doing what you believed in. That’s all we can ever do.”

“It always made me feel better - after,” Steve said. "It made me feel like yours again."

Tony stared at him in surprise. "And why would you want that? Now?" he asked, when he finally found his voice. 

"The war’s over,” Steve explained, as he took his hand and squeezed it. “We can go _home._ We ...” 

The rest of Steve's words were lost in the blood rushing to his head and spilling into his ears.

Steve wanted to go home.

But why?

Tony had kept him against his will. Forced him into a relationship. And hurt him too. Steve should run as far as he could. Why would he even want to come back?

Tony was about to be stripped of his title, his power and his riches, not that there was much left after the rebuilding. He had nothing at all to offer Steve. It made no sense - for Steve to want him. 

Unless it was the truth. 

Tony sat up slowly, climbing over Steve to straddle his hips and brushed away the long bangs away from Steve's eyes. In those moments of silence where they just gazed at each other, Tony learnt that Steve had the longest lashes he’d ever seen and there were tiny flecks of green in his blue eyes, which still burned fiercely. 

For him. 

Tony took hold of Steve's hands, pinning his wrists over his head as he tentatively kissed the corner of his mouth. Steve closed his eyes and threw his head back, baring the skin of his neck. Encouraged, Tony peppered Steve's neck with light kisses, drawing whimpers from the younger man. Steve parted his lips as if to speak, but before he could, Tony captured his plush lips in a deep kiss as Steve moaned softly into his mouth. 

The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in its familiarity, but the fact that they were out in the forest, at one with nature, sent a thrill down Tony's spine.

Tony's hand rested at the back of Steve's head, cupping his face as their breaths mingled. He raked his hand through the soft locks, lowering his own body until nothing remained between them, the warm press of Steve's chest setting his body on fire. As he kissed his warm lips, he could feel the heat spreading through his body, smothering him with fumes. Still, he delved deeper, allowing the flames to swallow him whole. 

They kissed for a long time. It could have been seconds, minutes or hours. Tony neither knew nor cared. It felt like time had stopped as the world crumbled to their feet. There was no pain, no suffering, no war.

Just love. 

Desire. 

And Steve. 

“You taste like chocolate,” Steve gasped, face flushed, when Tony finally pulled away.

Tony chuckled. “I do recall your fondness for it." 

“It tasted - like you,” Steve explained, sitting up in an attempt to kiss him again. 

“No, no,” Tony said, placing his hand on Steve's chest to ease him back down. He took his wrists and rearranged his arms, keeping them above his head, right where he wanted them. “You stay where I want you,” he said, firmly. 

Steve shivered at the command as he lay back, keeping his hands out of the way, just as Tony asked.

Tony nodded in approval, rewarding the young man by licking a broad stripe from the base of his throat to his jaw, noting smugly how the flush on Steve’s cheeks spread down his neck all the way to the top of his chest. Taking his time, Tony kissed his cheek, his ears, the neck, mouthing his collarbones till he came to the dip of his neck. By the time he reached the neckline of Steve's vest, the young man was panting heavily, his eyes glazed. 

Tony placed a kiss on his forehead. “Do you mean what you said?” Tony asked. “About being mine?”

“Yes,” Steve whispered through his slightly-parted lips. 

“Then, take your clothes off,” he said. “Now.” 

Blue eyes widened with understanding as Tony climbed off, watching the young man pull his vest over his head and slide his shorts off. 

Tony allowed his eyes to roam over Steve’s naked body. His hands hovered over his skin, drawing soft gasps and short sighs each time they made contact. “Look at you,” he said, gently squeezing one of his thighs. “All grown up now.” 

Steve was tall and broad, with his large, muscled chest and long limbs. Built like an oak, his body showed his power with the shift of his muscles. He hid his softness in pretty blue eyes, in the curve of his smile, in his voice, the one reserved for him, when it was just the two of them, soft moans and whispered pleas that sent all the blood running to his own cock. 

Tony slid a hand down Steve’s body, caressing his hip and his bottom, his fingers gliding between his inner cheeks, dancing around the young man’s hole. Pressing his lips to Steve’s ear, he asked, “Did you feel me that morning when you left?”

Steve closed his eyes and moaned at the memory. “Yes.” he rasped. “Felt you for days.” 

“Good,” he said, pleased with his answer. “Get up. On your knees,” he said.

Tony sat up with the kneeling man, kissing his temple and his nape. He let his fingers dance across the lean muscles of his back, stroking the smooth skin of his lovely, round ass. 

“Head down,” Tony said, applying pressure to the back of his neck. “Knees apart. I want to see you.” 

Obediently, Steve rested his head on the ground to look out at the lake. He stayed on his knees, slightly parted, and Tony could see _everything_. 

It made his mouth water. “Beautiful,” Tony said, pushing his head between his strong thighs to mouth at Steve’s balls. His lips found Steve’s hole, kissing it tenderly, lapping slowly around the rim before slipping his tongue into that tight ass. Drunk on Steve's scent, he alternated between circling his rim and slipping his tongue inside, as Steve moaned his pleasure into the blankets. 

Tony found a bottle of oil, pouring a generous amount on his palms before rubbing them together. He covered the expanse of Steve’s bottom, paying special attention to the inner cheeks. He placed a hand on the small of his back to soothe the touch-starved man, who was breathing through his mouth, eyes closed. 

“Anyone else?” Tony asked, casually, as he reached between his cheeks to sweep his fingers over his smooth boycunt, stroking it lightly as Steve gasped, grasping the bunched-up blankets with his fists. 

Steve’s eyes flew open and he turned to face him, looking horrified at the insinuation. “No,” he said. “No one.” 

“No one else has had this tight cunt?” he asked, raising a brow as he breached the tight ring with an oiled finger. 

Steve gasped at the intrusion and shook his head wildly. “No. No one. I swear,” he cried. 

“Why not?” Tony asked as he continued to slide his finger in and out of Steve.

Steve moaned in his throat. “Yours - belonged to you,” he whispered, squeezing tightly around his finger. 

Tony made a sound of approval, sliding his other hand down his body so he could fondle the firm balls and take hold of the young man’s cock. Humming appreciatively, he gave it a few slow strokes until Steve thrusted forward in an attempt to fuck his hand. Tony squeezed Steve's cock in warning, as he withdrew his finger, smacking his naughty hole several times to calm him down. “Patience, love. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

“Talk? About what?” Steve whined, which earned him a glare from Tony. 

“You see,” Tony said slowly, slipping his finger back inside his soft cunt, slowly fucking his sweet boy, who was so so so soft, warm and tight. “We're going to need a new home.” His fingers moved in a slow circle, stretching the ring of muscle. “This cabin is a real tight squeeze. I mean there’s barely any room for two,” he said, stressing the word as he inserted a second finger, drawing a choked gasp from Steve, who squeezed back in response. 

With his other hand, Tony squeezed Steve’s cock, stroking it slowly and rubbing around his tip. “Brooklyn has got potential but I'm not sure - if I like the hustle and bustle of city life,” he said, increasing the pace of his thrusts, before inserting a third finger, causing Steve to moan loudly and arch his back. 

Tony continued the torment as he pondered his options aloud. “Someplace in between might work. Away from the cities but not like this - deep in the woods.” Saying that, he slid his fingers deeper and crooked them upwards. “Upstate New York. A lakehouse, perhaps.” 

Steve was writhing, his thighs quaking from holding his position. “Anywhere you want,” he gasped. “I’ll go anywhere with you.” 

“We’ll have to keep searching,” Tony said, moving deliberately slowly in search of the spot which drove Steve wild. “Until we find the perfect spot,” he said as Steve screamed and shuddered, sobbing into the blankets. 

_There._ He found it.

Keeping his fingers deep in inside, he picked up the pace, shaking his hand as Steve panted quickly, his soft moans turning to strained grunts. “ Ah! Ah! Please please please please please please please oh Tony so close so close so close.” 

“No, not yet,” Tony said, keeping his breathing even and his voice level.

“No. No. Now. Please. Just please. Fuck me now,” Steve gasped, tears running down his cheeks as his fists crunched the dried leaves under the blankets. 

Tony pulled out and smacked the impatient young man in the middle of his bottom. “Behave,” he ordered sternly, as he spanked him several times more. “Or I'll tie you to a tree and leave you there all night.” 

At the threat, Steve buried his head and sobbed miserably, but he stayed in position, head on the ground and ass in the air, legs apart, just as Tony wanted. 

"Are you going to behave?" he asked. "Or do I have to cut a switch?"

"I'll be good," Steve promised, sniffling. 

“I believe you,” Tony said, planting a kiss on the middle of his bottom, where a red mark was beginning to appear. “Shhh… Shhh… It’s all right, my love. You’re doing so well. Can you turn over now? Turn around and lie on your back?”

Steve did, lying on his back so Tony could see his flushed face and heaving chest. Tony straddled his hips, sweeping Steve’s long bangs to one side. Placing a kiss in the middle of Steve’s forehead, he whispered. “My dear, headstrong boy. So clever and determined. Always a way out with you. Mine,” he said, kissing the spot again. 

“Yours,” Steve echoed softly, closing his eyes as he let his head roll back.

Tony went down the body, staking his claim on his eyes, his nose, his lips, his ears, his throat, various parts of his chest, placing soft kisses, sucking and nipping at the skin as he declared them to be his. Steve watched, his eyes dark, as Tony licked a broad stripe from his balls to the tip, which he kissed gently. “Mine. All mine,” he said. 

He removed his tunic and lowered his trousers to free his hard cock, smirking as the young man's look of hunger. At his nod, nimble hands soon found their way to Tony’s dick, stroking it in long motions, making Tony throw his head back and close his eyes. 

Tony ran a hand through Steve’s long hair, softly tugging at the roots, and Steve’s eyes flickered in silent understanding. They’d done this so many times that no words were needed. Shifting so that Tony was sitting on his bottom, Steve got to a kneel. 

Steve started at the base, sucking lightly at his balls as he licked at them. He moved slowly, licking broad stripes up and down Tony’s length before closing his mouth over Tony’s head. Tony watched, drunk on arousal, as Steve bobbed up and down on his cock, his cheeks hollow from sucking and his pink lips swollen around his girth. Steve kept at it a long time, but soon he began to tire, choking softly when he couldn’t keep up with Tony’s pace, tiny tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as he worshipped his cock. 

Tony fisted his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling the man off as he handed him the bottle of oil. Steve coated his length, spreading it from the tip to his balls.

“On your back,” Tony ordered, when he thought it was quite enough. 

Steve complied, lifting his legs and spreading them with his strong hands, as he offered himself to Tony. Tony took his feet, kissing them slowly while he stroked his calves and thighs. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said, slowly and quite unnecessarily, just to make the boy blush. “Keep your hands here. No touching. You come on my cock or not at all. You hear me?”

Steve could only nod his head, too far down to speak. Lining the tip of his cock with Steve’s hole, Tony pushed, slipping in easily due to the extensive preparation. It was warm and tight and clenching around him in a way that felt like heaven. Tony would stay buried in Steve forever if he could, but his bossy lover was rocking his hips, pleading, demanding that he move. 

Tony laughed and began to move his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Steve's warm channel. Steve’s eyes flew open as he looked at him reverently, in adoration. His eyes were glazed and his face was flushed, lips red and swollen from biting down on them. As Tony drove his cock over the sweet spot over and over again, he could see his young cock throbbing, bouncing on his stomach from the violent thrusts as the young man moaned his pleasure into the quiet night.

It didn’t take long for Steve to reach his climax. He came with his head thrown back, eyes closed and lips parted, sobbing his pleasure as he spilled over his stomach. Tony fucked him through his orgasm, watching Steve as he lay, calm and pliant, waiting for him to reach his. It came swiftly, the waves of pleasure building up at the base of his cock, before cresting as he spilled deep inside his boy, marking his insides. 

“Mine,” he growled. 

“Yours,” Steve agreed, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. 

“So, it’s been a day of revelations,” Tony said, lying down beside Steve, completely exhausted. “Is there anything else I need to know before I try to get some sleep?” 

Steve’s eyes flew open as he bit his lower lip, as if deep in thought. “No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Oh, except…” he trailed off.

“Except?” 

“I love you.” 

“Oh,” Tony said, the air rushing out of his lungs as his heart swelled to twice its usual size. “Funny how you once said you couldn’t give your heart to me.”

“It wasn’t mine to give.”

“And now it is?”

“And now it is.”

Tony leaned over and kissed his forehead, holding him close in his arms, as he felt like the happiest man on earth. “I love you, Steve. I love you too.” 

***

“What happens now?” Tony asked, the next morning, as he watched Steve saddle the horses in preparation of their long journey. 

“We lay low. Try not to get killed. Fury is cleaning house as we speak. Then, the accords. The monarchy is over, but nobody wants to see you gone. We need you, Tony, as an advisor, a minister. You can even run for president if you want,” he added, only half-joking. 

“All I have to do is sign?”

“Only if you want to. It’s your choice. It’s always been your choice,” Steve said as he handed Tony the box of reeds.

“What - is this an olive branch?”

“What?” Steve asked, feigning ignorance. “They’re just reeds.” 

Tony smiled back at the grinning young man. How little had changed. How much sway he still held over him despite the passage of time. He wouldn’t be the first nor the last king to bring a dynasty to a close, all for a pretty face. But, at least, he would be doing it on his own terms.

They set off, riding along twisting paths, snaking around the ancient trees. The leapt over fallen trees, dodging the rotting oak, under lowered branches. As they raced toward their freedom, Tony opened his eyes to the beauty of the wilderness and all who dwelled within it. He didn't know where they were going and he didn't even care. 

With Steve by his side, he was already home. 

*** The End ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :D


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